


I'm Falling For Your Tragic Symphony

by social_reject



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/social_reject/pseuds/social_reject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke was lost in the symphony of Ashton’s eyes, how they held more beauty than even the most admirable song, how as an artist he envied the amazing shade of hazel he would never be able to recreate. Ashton’s eyes flickered down and back up quickly, his tongue sweeping across his lower lip. His eyes became contemplative until suddenly they were closed and so were Luke’s and they were both leaning in, the collision of colors magical and filled with happiness. </p><p>Or: Luke is a painter and Ashton is a musician who seem to have found their muses within each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Falling For Your Tragic Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> Pulled from the very back of my unfinished folder, dusted off, cleaned up a bit, and now posted. The title is from the Hanson song (shocker I would pick Hanson again) "Tragic Symphony".

Luke’s paint brush collided with the canvas, the colors swirling together intimately. Luke let himself go completely, his emotions running rampant across the once empty canvas, now covered in pinks and reds, mixing with each other to create something as abstract as Luke’s mind. The movement of the brush in his hand was freeing, his mind liberated as he expressed himself through his favorite medium; paints. Luke would paint with anything he could get his hands on; acrylics, oil, water colors, even paint pens if he had to.

The lights to the art studio went out suddenly, their automatic timer for movement running out, leaving Luke in the dark. Only the full moon that could be seen through the picture window provided Luke illumination, and in all honesty he sort of preferred it that way. The harsh fluorescents always seemed to wash the colors out, belittling their existence and purpose. But there in the moon light the colors were born with new purpose, vibrant and expressive, conveying the emotions he felt but could never say.

Just as soon as the lights had gone out, they came back on, the door opening with a creak. Luke turned to identify the intruder and stopped short, expecting the professor who taught in the studio- she always checked in on him when he was alone in here- but saw a student stepping through the door. Loose honey curls swept across his forehead against his tan skin. He seemed just as surprised as Luke was to see someone in here.

“Sorry uh, I just forgot something,” he explained, a familiar Australian accent pouring through, reminding Luke of home.

“That’s okay,” Luke said dazedly as he watched the student jog to one of the easels reaching for a notebook on the cart beside it. The boy clutched the book to his chest, cradling it as if it were precious. Luke looked away immediately when the boy looked back.

“Sorry, I’ll just- I’ll be leaving now,” he said as he walked back to the door. “Sorry to bother you.”

“It was no trouble,” Luke answered back as the door shut.

Luke turned back to his work, removing the current canvas from the easel, suddenly inspired to start anew.

*

As Luke walked to his first class of the day, he lagged, overtired from spending most of the night in the studio. He hadn’t meant to leave at almost one in the morning, but he’d been inspired and feared that if he put the brush down he wouldn’t be able to pick it back up where he wanted to. The day marked the start of the new semester, his new schedule tucked neatly into his sketchbook, a few smudges adorning it already. He set course for Kings Hall, the building where most of the music classes were held, he was excited at the idea of expanding his artistic horizons through music, but nervous all the same.

He quickly entered the classroom, choosing a seat in the middle, leaving space beside him. He was a few minutes early, surprisingly, and chose to spend his time doodling as the classroom filled up. The professor walked out of his office and immediately to the blackboard, writing his name with the dusty chalk, _Professor Hatch,_ it read. Luke took a quick liking to the professor, he seemed relatable yet not forced to be.

“At the end of the semester you will submit to me an original composition along with your final exam. You’ll have all semester to work on it and get it right, time with me if need be to tweak it. But right now I’d like to introduce a student I had last semester who blew me away; he’s agreed to perform his submission for you all today.”

Luke brightened at the words, the first day of class and they would already get to hear someone’s original music.

“Please welcome, Ashton Irwin,” Professor Hatch announced, the classroom giving off a light round of applause as the boy stepped out of the office.

Luke immediately recognized the boy and the notebook that was cradled to his chest once more. His cheeks were heated red as if embarrassed by the attention but he took a seat at the piano in the corner of the room, opening his notebook and shuffling through a few pages before setting it down and finally settling his long fingers on the keys.

He began to play, it was evident he had poured his heart and soul into the composition, the way he hit each note perfectly, how his facial features contorted to express emotions as the song progressed. Entranced by the music- no the masterpiece that Ashton played Luke sat back in his seat, letting every note run through him.

Inspiration burst through Luke, his hands itching for a paint brush, his fingers curling around empty air as the song came to an end. Empathetic sorrow washed through Luke as Ashton stood from the piano and collected his notebook, a few fallen pages being tucked back in as he walked off, the professor leading the applause that lead him out. For the rest of the class the music resonated within Luke, such sadness was conveyed through one instrument, from one person, it was beautifully tragic. And if Luke could have painted a song, he was sure it would have been filled with the deepest purples and blues.

All throughout the day Luke yearned for a fresh canvas, for the feel of the brush gliding along as it did exactly what he wanted, the strokes sporadic, yet beautiful.  Finally, once all of his courses were completed and he’d eaten dinner at the dining hall did he get his chance to go to the art studio, the professor expectant on his arrival. Luke had talked to the professor on the first day of school, needing to know when the studio had open hours, the professor had laughed at his eagerness and told him he was welcome anytime, be there a class in session or not.

He pounded through the door, making a break for his favorite easel, ideas and emotions already flowing through him. The office light was on, meaning Professor Fenderson was inside, either grading or having a meeting with a student, Luke wasn’t sure, and momentarily did not care. Once again he entered his headspace, clearing his mind, seeing only colors as he opened the paints and grabbed for the respective brushes.

By the time Luke was pulled out of his reverie it could have been hours for all he knew or possibly only minutes, but the office door opened which startled him something fierce. He snapped to attention, his gaze drifting to the door, two familiar people stood in the frame.

“Maybe Luke over here could help you, after all, he is one of my best students,” Professor Fenderson said, gesturing towards Luke.

Luke beamed, the words adding up to much more than just syllables to him. Ashton who was stood beside Professor Fenderson clasped his hands together, looking desperate to get out of the situation. Luke wondered what kind of help Ashton exactly needed but didn’t have to think of it too long, Professor Fenderson was already walking towards him, Ashton trailing behind, explanation at the ready.

“You see, I passed Ashton by the skin of his teeth last semester in the compromise that he would use this semester to paint me something magnificent. Maybe you could offer him some pointers.”

Luke was elated at the thought of getting to help Ashton; spending time with a cute boy never hurt anybody in Luke’s opinion. He could sense though, that Ashton seemed a bit uncomfortable with the idea, so he came up with a solution.

“Only if you help me with music comp,” Luke offered, trying to play it cool and not let all his colors bubble over at once.

“Okay,” Ashton agreed, a bit less hesitant this time.

“Excellent,” Professor Fenderson said with a flourish, her hands clapping together in excitement at the idea. She had always been Luke’s favorite professor, eccentric yet understanding and helpful. She left the boys then after locking up her office, throwing over her shoulder for Luke to lock the room when he was done, as was routine.

“Thanks for that,” Ashton said timidly as he sat beside Luke, his hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to, and I really do need your help,” Luke immediately replied brightening some of Ashton’s darker colors. “I mean I can play guitar and sing a little, but composing my own song for the whole class to hear is a little frightening.”

“It’s no different than showing your paintings to people,” Ashton offered a bit of comfort.

Luke mulled that over in his mind for a while, it _was_ different, he was comfortable with a brush in his hand, excited to see the reaction to his art from the back of the room. This time he’d have to be center stage, in a medium he hadn’t practiced in for quite a while. He expressed these thoughts to Ashton as he cleaned off some of his paint brushes.

“It’s like giving a basketball player a football field. They may be athletic but it’s a whole other world.”

“You’re actually completely right,” Ashton shrugged, seemingly more comfortable than just a few minutes ago. “I guess that’s why I had so much trouble with this class. You get into art school and administration expects you to be Van Gogh mixed with Mozart and Jesus or something, all the while they’re drawing stick figures and singing off key in the car.”

Luke laughed, the reality of the words settling around him. It was completely and utterly true. Luke’s own reply came quickly, “You know they say ‘those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach’.”

“Well whoever ‘they’ are, were correct,” Ashton giggled, the sound even more beautiful to Luke than the song he’d played.

“So from one artist to another, we help each other out. I’ll have you falling in love with painting before you know it,” Luke concluded, Ashton smiling broadly, beaming more than the full moon Luke loved to stare at.

“It’s a deal,” Ashton agreed and stuck out his hand. They shook on it, the permanence of said deal enclosed in their entwined hands.

*

Over the course of the next few weeks Luke and Ashton worked closely together, alternating days for practice and pointers. Luke could tell Ashton was getting frustrated at his lack of progress, self-deprecation a strong suit for him. Luke needed Ashton to take a look at the bigger picture here, so he sat him down in front of a blank canvas and proceeded to place his hands over Ashton’s eyes, sitting on a stool behind him.

 “Alright, now paint.”

“How am I supposed to see the bigger picture- to paint the bigger picture- if I can’t see it?” Ashton asked.

“You don’t see art, you feel it,” Luke replied to which Ashton snorted. “Come on, just try it.”

So Ashton did, and he painted and painted until Luke told him to stop, and finally took his hands from off his face for the big reveal, his hands settling on his shoulders instead. Ashton opened his eyes, squinted past the intruding light, and sighed.

“Well it’s not good, but it’s better,” Ashton admitted.

“You really, _really,_ have to open yourself up to your emotions,” Luke said as Ashton turned and gave him a doubtful look.

“How can I paint my emotions when you won’t let me see what color I want to use? What if I’m angry and end up using blue instead of red?”

“Colors aren’t assigned just one emotion; you can express so many different things with just the color red.”

“Like what?” Ashton questioned his gaze shifting to the paint that crusted onto his hands.

“Anger, frustration, love, determination, depression,” Luke listed off and dipped a brush into the red paint. “It’s not all black and white you know.”

As Ashton thought about it, Luke flicked the brush, a spattering of paint planted onto Ashton’s face, specks along his nose to his cheek and carried down to his mouth which was now turning up as he tried to hide a smile.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?” Ashton laughed and dipped his own paint brush in green, not hesitating to swipe it across Luke’s face, narrowly avoiding making it go _in_ his mouth.

Luke didn’t flinch; he just let it happen and then quipped, “Well for once your brush stroke wasn’t horrendous.”

He then proceeded to swipe his paintbrush up and down Ashton’s face in a zig zag.

“Those are fighting words Luke,” Ashton warned as he flicked some more green, this time spattering his shirt.

Luke leaned closer, their faces now inches apart, “Ooh, I’m so scared,” he mocked.

Ashton shook his head back and forth, his curls in disarray, his face absolutely glowing as he bit his lip and smiled, thought for a moment and then asked, “Red and green make what color?”

Luke paused for a moment taken aback by the question and finally answered slowly, “Yellow.”

“What do you think yellow can convey?”

“Happiness,” Luke answered immediately and after a bit of contemplation added, “You know, we could make our own happiness.”

Luke didn’t know how he’d become so bold, but over the past few weeks there was no denying the crush he had on Ashton, the intensity ever growing. He had begun to feel that if he didn’t say something sooner rather than later, he was going to burst, like a kaleidoscope smashing into the floor. Luke wasn’t sure if Ashton felt the same way about him, he wasn’t sure if Ashton even liked boys the way Luke did, but damn he was more than willing to find out.

Luke was lost in the symphony of Ashton’s eyes, how they held more beauty than even the most admirable song, how as an artist he envied the amazing shade of hazel he would never be able to recreate. Ashton’s eyes flickered down and back up quickly, his tongue sweeping across his lower lip. His eyes became contemplative until suddenly they were closed and so were Luke’s and they were both leaning in, the collision of colors magical and filled with _happiness._

Luke’s hands curled themselves in the honey of Ashton’s hair, Ashton’s own hands placed whisperingly soft on the curve of Luke’s neck, slowly trailing their way up to brush across his cheeks. The kiss became hot and heavy through the thick paint, Luke not even caring that it was most definitely going to be in his mouth when they pulled apart, he’d have to remind himself to thank Professor Fenderson for buying nontoxic paints.

Due to the necessity of breathing, they eventually pulled apart, their breath coming out in pants, elation at the event painting Luke’s mood an extreme yellow, perhaps neon even.

“See now if this was a part of Intro to Painting, I would have been a lot more interested,” Ashton giggled.

*

“Come on Luke, you just have to focus, I know you can write, you’ve just got to stop being so distracted,” Ashton coaxed handing the guitar back to Luke.

“It’s kind of hard to focus with you in here,” Luke admitted, Ashton smirking.

“If I have to paint with you hovering over my shoulder, you can write with me in the same room,” Ashton argued.

“Fine, just stop being so damn adorable,” Luke requested.

Ashton rolled his eyes but blushed nonetheless. After a few more failed attempts at beginning the process of writing, he became visibly irritated. Ashton fled to his side, sitting on the bed next to him. They’d started using Luke’s dorm room as a new practice place, the privacy offering more chance for intimacy. Ashton suddenly put his hands over Luke’s ears and when  Luke brushed him off Ashton smiled.

“You don’t hear the music, you feel it,” Ashton said, trying and inevitably failing at imitating Luke’s voice.

Luke placed a hand over his heart and mocked hurt, “That cut me deep Music Boy. Real fucking deep.”

“Get over it Painter Boy, you only have a couple of weeks left to get your song written,” Ashton rebutted.

Luke honestly didn’t know where the time had gone, well- actually he did. He’d spent most of it with Ashton, Ashton, and some more with Ashton. Their painting sessions turning into make out sessions, their writing sessions turning into something a little bit more than make out sessions.

“I just don’t know what to write about,” Luke confessed, his frustration brimming over to tears. Ashton wrapped his arm around him, running his hands up and down Luke’s arm.

“Write about something you love,” Ashton said.

Luke nodded, “Okay, but I’m going to do it on my own.”

*

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye, Ashton and Luke meeting up at the end of Luke’s Music Comp class, Ashton eager to hear how it went. Luke hadn’t let Ashton listen to the song he had begun to compose that night Ashton told him to write about something he loved. In retaliation, Ashton wouldn’t let Luke see the painting he was working on. They’d decided they would share it with each other after the fact.

Luke hauled his guitar to Ashton’s dorm room, his roommate out for the night, making it more convenient for them. Ashton was insistent that Luke go first in their sharing, Luke was slightly hesitant at first but ultimately agreed. He strummed the guitar and let the lyrics flow out of him, emotions radiating as if he were holding a paintbrush and not a guitar pick. The lyrics were red and pink and purple and any color he could think of that might represent love, and they were all about Ashton.

“That was beautiful Painter Boy, what was it about?”

And because Ashton was sometimes so thick Luke laughed, leaned in, pecked him on the lips and whispered, “You.”

Ashton pulled away slightly and sighed, “Well that’s weird. Because I so happened to have found my own inspiration in you.”

Luke watched him walk over to his desk, open the drawer and pull out a hidden canvas, he quickly hid it behind his back and walked over once more, sitting on the bed heavily. He presented it to Luke, a glowing smile on his face.

The canvas was filled with greens, reds and yellows, and while it wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing color palette Luke found himself filling with red and yellow as he looked at his triumphant boyfriend’s smile. His heart soared as he laughed and tucked a strand of Ashton’s hair behind his ear to see his face fully.

“I love you,” Luke said through a laugh.

Ashton giggled with him, leaning into his side and gazing up, “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know guys. Let me know what you think of this. I just don't know.  
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://lashtonsillusion.tumblr.com)


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